‘Vlacho!’ she hissed in a whisper. ‘Vlacho! Are you armed?’
‘In a way,’ said I, with a shrug. ‘But there are at least two besides him. I saw them in the wood.’
‘Yes, yes, true. There are four generally. It would be death. Here, hide behind the curtains. I’ll try to put him off for the moment. Quick, quick!’
She was hurried and eager, but I saw that her wits were clear. I stepped behind the curtains and she drew them close. I heard her fling herself again on the couch. Then came the innkeeper’s voice, its roughness softened in deferential greeting.
At the same time a strong smell of eau de Cologne pervaded the room.
‘Am I well?’ said Madame Stefanopoulos fretfully. ‘My good Vlacho, I am very ill. Should I sit in a dark room and bathe my head with this stuff if I were well?’
‘My lady’s sickness grieves me beyond expression,’ said Vlacho politely. ‘And the more so because I am come from my Lord Constantine with a message for you.’
‘It is easier for him to send messages than to come himself,’ she remarked, with an admirable pretence of resentment.
‘Think how occupied he has been with this pestilent Englishman!’ said the plausible Vlacho. ‘We have had no peace. But at last I hope our troubles are over. The house is ours again.’
‘Ah, you have driven them out?’